


What Dreams May Come

by Triskaidekalogue



Series: HSO 2011 ficbits [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, F/F, Ficbit, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:39:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskaidekalogue/pseuds/Triskaidekalogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In waking she is bound to law and code, to causes far greater than her own. (Warning for dream violence?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> A snippet written for [lj user astrophenia's soundtrack](http://hs-olympics.livejournal.com/9563.html?thread=1577307#t1577307) in HSO Bonus Round 2B.

Redglare dreams.

Sleeping on dragonback, not sopor, Redglare dreams of Pyralspite's scales, streaming rain and steam earthward as they plow through the fifth storm of the bilunar perigee. They are hot and rough against her fingers and even though neither she nor Pyralspite can sense much in this damnable downpour there's a certain scent to water on heated keratin, and it comforts her.

In her dream her quarry is losing ground. The ship she pursues is flagging in the absence of a steady wind, and its slaves can't row hard enough to make up the difference. Pyralspite bears down on them. She hears the curses of the crew, the panicked disharmony in their voices, and smiles.

(Because it is a dream she can see the slaves belowdecks waist-deep in seawater, or bilge, pulling at their oars until their muscles lock and because it is a dream she can feel their sinews wrenched with cold and exhaustion.)

Sorry, she says to the slaves. Wind whips her words away, first in one direction, then the other. She imagines she can see them zigzagging off into the distance, lost amid the lightning veining across the sky.

Mindfang is on deck, shouting orders left and right. The dream adds at least an arm's length to her height. Jade blood drips from her hands. The rain should have washed them clean already, but stained they stay, green as grass, as guilt, as the Guardian's eyes.

Flame, Redglare tells her partner. White-hot fire lances from Pyralspite's snout and turns the gamblignant's guts to cinders. Flame, she repeats and she is an avenging goddess, flame flame flame, Mindfang's corpse lighting up the storm in a blaze of impossible flame. She thinks maybe she can pick out a thread of jade green in the oily smoke. Burnt offering.

Dualscar next, she says as slaves scramble in rebellion below them, suddenly so far below them. The tears on her cheeks are too bitter-salt to be rain. Pyralspite's scales scrape against her palms. They fly.

Night swallows them like a dream.


End file.
